


A Moondrunk Melody

by openacademia



Category: Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepybois (Video Blogging RPF), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Niki Is Really Cool You Guys, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Supernatural - Freeform, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Wilbur Soot, badboyhalo can throw knives, he doesnt in this fic, sorry - Freeform, uhhhh be alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openacademia/pseuds/openacademia
Summary: Old World werewolves, also known as carriers of the European strain of lycanthropy, can experience a period of bloodthirst during which they are highly aggressive and dangerous to fellow lycanthropes and non-lycanthropes alike. This state, commonly known as "moonstrike", may be caused by initial exposure to the light of a full moon, and can last anywhere from ten minutes to a few hours.However, if a werewolf avoids the full moon's light for long enough, they might enter an alternate, much more potent state; moondrunkeness, which should be avoided by all costs.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	A Moondrunk Melody

Tommy walked down the path into the garden, into the fenced-off portion of the yard they usually would’ve kept Wilbur in.

“Wilbur. Wilbur! Where are you, big W?” He called, stick in hand. He just needed to make sure that Wilbur had  _ definitely  _ escaped the backyard before he bothered to look anywhere else.

Even if he was just in the yard, Wilbur would probably be a pain anyway. Tommy hoped he wasn’t too struck; it would be a real bitch to have to drag a moonstruck wolf out of trees at the back with just his stick. He’d probably have to ask Tubbo for help, which would also be a bitch.

Silence. 

He hadn’t expected him to answer anyway. He sighed, and turned to the edge of the yard, hopping the fence and cutting across the garden to the path into the woods.

He dreaded having to go in there.

If Wilbur wasn’t in the yard, he’d have to be in the forest. There, there was almost no chance of catching him until he sobered up, which could take any amount of time up until morning. 

Tommy groaned. “Be grateful I’m doing this for you, big man,” he muttered.

He strode into the woods, loop stick in hand. The staff was good and heavy, and the corded loop on top would provide a good bit of restraint against a slightly crazed werewolf. Tommy was confident that it wasn’t impossible to bring Wilbur back, but he didn’t look forward to it, either.

It wasn’t the worst night to go wandering around after your possibly feral friend. Moonlight shone on the thick canopy of elm and oak leaves, little beams shining thorough here and there. The breeze wasn’t cold, but not warm, and chilled Tommy a little bit through his jumper.

He shivered. Not entirely due to the breeze.

As he kept walking, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Though he wasn’t clairvoyant, like Bad, who worked at the outpost up north, he’d learned to trust his instincts enough that he eventually stopped only a short distance into the woods.

He’d stopped at the edge of a clearing. This was a place they sometimes used for camping: it had a nice, bare patch of ground that they cleared regularly and a stone ring with ashes still left over. The fire ring, and a few meters around it, was the only thing bared to the moonlight, with where they usually pitched their tents and the spot they parked the side-by-side in lying empty in the shadows.

Tommy listened intently. The branches overhead swayed, quietly rustling. A few summer crickets chirped in the night, from various places around the clearing. The breeze was too quiet to whistle, and Tommy thought he might hear the brook in the distance.

The cricket-song behind him stopped.

Tommy looked behind him, a lump in his throat. 

Gleaming eyes stared back at him from the brush.

“Ugh, Wilbur. Wilbur is that you… no?” Tommy said to the glowing eyes, which didn’t answer. “If you’re not Wilbur, goddamn it, I’ll have to ask his struck ass for help. Wilbur!” he called. Even if Wilbur was moonstruck, he’d never failed to shake it off with enough urgency. “Wilbur, I need help!”

The eyes vanished. Tommy went quiet for a second.

Laughter sounded behind the bushes. The brush crunched and crackled as Wilbur stepped through, looking slightly bedraggled but none the worse for wear. He smiled, casually brushing leaves off his jacket.   
“Hello, Tommy.” 

“ _ Goddamn _ , Wilbur!” Tommy shouted. “You gave me a scare, you did. The fuck d’you run out here for?”

“Tubbo left the gate open, and the moon’s full.“ Wilbur shrugged. “It’s so beautiful out, why would I resist?”

“Wilbur, you know why you can’t go outside the fence on full moon nights. Aren’t you sober yet?” Tommy said. He craned his neck around, trying to get a good look at Wilbur’s eyes to guage his level of craziness. He wouldn’t be violent in human form, at least, but he’d still be a good bit of trouble if he decided to resist. 

Wilbur evaded his gase, turning around crisply. He laughed. “Really, tommy? Come on, I feel great! I feel wonderful. You don’t need to babysit me on a night like this, that’s no fun.”

Tommy kept going, trying to catch a glimpse of Wilbur’s eyes. “Fun? Wilbur, it’s the full moon. We don’t have time for games.”

Wilbur turned to look him full in the face, and Tommy’s blood ran cold.

Wilbur’s eyes seemed filmy, translucent, and the irises simultaneously dulled and reflective. The pupils looked like they had cataracts, bright white in the centers, and his gaze seemed ever so slightly unfocused.

_ He’s not just moonstruck _ , he thought.  _ He’s moondrunk. _

Tommy stumbled back, putting as much space between them as possible. Wilbur didn’t flinch, just stared at him with a gaze much too sharp for comfort.

“Oh, Tommy, you’re being such a worrywart. I’m fine! In fact, I think tonight’s the perfect night for a game.” His voice was completely normal, which chilled Tommy more than the breeze ever could. Wilbur strode towards him evenly, matching every step back with a step of his own. His eyes bored into Tommy’s, who couldn’t look away no matter how much he tried.

“In fact… let’s all play! You, me, Tubbo, Techno… Ah, Techno’s getting groceries still, isn’t he? Oh well,” Wilbur mused. “You and Tubbo will do just fine.”

Tommy found himself backed up against a tree, and hurriedly scrambled to the side, foot catching on a root and almost tripping in the process. 

“Wilbur, listen,” he said, pushing himself back further and readying his stick. “I don’t think any game you come up with right now is going to be… It’s not gonna be much fun, if you know what i mean.” Tommy forced out a laugh. “Man, you’re rubbish at coming up with things when you’re drunk. Let’s just go home and we can play Cluedo, or something when you’re sober, okay?”

“No, no no! This will be fun, trust me,” Wilbur said. His smile gleamed in an errant ray of moonlight through the canopy. His teeth seemed to grow sharper and thicker and yellower as Tommy watched.

_ I don’t think so, Wilbur, _ Tommy thought to himself, stumbling towards the path back to the house.  _ You’re out of your goddamn mind. _

“See, here’s the game.” Wilbur said, stopping suddenly. Tommy stumbled in surprise, and Wilbur began to pace, skirting around the circle of moonlight at the edge of the clearing.

“Remember all of those games that Dream organizes for practice up at their outpost? The manhunts?” He looked expectantly at Tommy, who didn’t say anything. “Really, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before, it sounds like so much fun!” He giggled in exultation, then looked back at tommy, cocking his head. “Tommy, you’re not being very responsive. Are you alright?”

Tommy braced himself at any moment for Wilbur to attack, positioning himself to run.

“So.” Wilbur clapped his hands. “The concept is, I run, and you try to catch me.” Pace, pace, pace. “If you catch me one time, in any trap, or in any other thing… you win. But, I can retaliate.” He kept pacing. As he rounded the side of the firepit, Tommy saw his smile had transformed into a sharp grin.

“The catch is, is that I can catch you too. As many times, and in as many ways as I want. And if I go too far… I suppose you run the risk of not being catchable any more. But that’s the risk we run for a good game, right?”

“Wilbur, listen to me, I don’t think this is going to be very fun.” Tommy said, his voice rising even as he fought to keep it steady. 

Wilbur was approaching on his second round about the clearing, and he looked up at tommy with his usual friendly, rakish smile.

“Aw, Tommy! Don’t be such a spoilsport,” he teased. He was close enough to touch him now. Close enough that Tommy could hit him and buy himself some time to go, run back to the house. Time he and Tubbo could use to call Techno. 

“Not a spoilsport, really, it’s just not fair,” Tommy said, standing his ground. He swallowed a scream. “After all, you’re a werewolf, man. You can smell fear, for god’s sake. That seems like an unfair advantage, don’t you think?”

Wilbur leaned down, just slightly. Just too close. Tommy’s heartbeat climbed up into his ears. Wilbur’s smile only grew, hovering on the edge of his wolf grin.

“You’re right, Tommy. I  _ can _ smell fear. And you know… you’re giving me a right noseful right now.” Wilbur placed a hand on his shoulder. “So I’ll give you and Tubbo a headstart.”

Tommy shook, his teeth clenched tight. Wilbur leaned to whisper into his ear.

_ “Go on. Run.” _

Tommy jumped and bolted down the path, legs carrying him faster than he ever thought they could’ve. Fear blinded him, he tripped three times on rocks before he even made it the 50 meters back to the exit of the forest.

And all the time, Wilbur’s laughter echoed after him.

Wilbur watched Tommy run away.

“I’m fairly sure there was a song about that,” he said to no one in particular. The forest itself was quiet, so willing to hear him, and it was more intoxicating than the moonlight. He thought to himself for a minute, letting the silence grow, thinking about the song in his head for a moment.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s right, there was one!” he said. “Can’t remember what it’s called now. But it was an awfully sad one. Something about ‘oh, I know I’m a wolf, little rabbit! Don’t be scared, everyone hates me but you’ll trust me, right?’” His voice went high, mocking the song. “‘I swear I won’t eat you!’” He chuckled.

“See, that’s just not any fun. And it isn’t fitting, either, seeing as eating them might, in fact be something I want to do later,” he mused. “So maybe I’ll have to write a new song. One that fully captures, truly  _ encapsulates _ the feeling of running and running after. The ebb and flow of a two-way hunt. Wonderful!” He said to himself. “I love it already.”

The forest’s silence swallowed his words, answering only with emptiness. “Oh, don’t be like that. I think you and i will both love the finished product. In fact, I’ll give you a preview.”

He came to the edge of the clearing, toeing the line between the moonlight and the shadows.

“Here’s the first note i was thinking of. Do tell me your thoughts,” he said, stepping into the moonlight.

Anywhere the light fell, Wilbur felt himself transform. Paws fell onto the ground. Fur took the place of fabric and skin. The world took sharp,  _ luscious _ focus, with smells and sounds heightened to an impossible, wonderful extent.

Giving an appropriate pause for effect, Wilbur sat on the moon-soaked ground. He looked up to the sky.

And he howled.


End file.
